


Gendry at the Peach

by VanillaMostly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 21:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11449707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaMostly/pseuds/VanillaMostly
Summary: “Yes it is.” He sat down on the bench, cradling a cup of wine between his hands. “Go away. I want to drink this wine in peace. Then maybe I’ll go find that black-haired girl and ring her bell for her.”“But . . .”“I said, go away. M’lady.”-A Storm of Swords





	Gendry at the Peach

 

Gendry did not want to ring Bella’s bells that night. He’d only said it because he was annoyed at Arry— sorry, Arya. _M’lady_. He snorted into his drink, but as he stared into his almost-empty cup he was not amused. Not one bit.

“Lonely, handsome? I could— “

He didn’t even spare the girl one glance. “Go away.”

“My, aren’t we grumpy today,” muttered the girl as she left.

He didn’t know exactly why he _did_ feel so grumpy. Only that he had never hated the gods so much, for making some people bastards and some people highborn lords and ladies and giving the illusion that they lived in one world when they clearly didn’t.

Another hand touched his shoulder and he jerked, glaring at the next disturber of his peace.

But it wasn’t one of the girls this time. It was Harwin.

Gendry recovered, and tried to look polite or apologetic. But he probably just looked confused.

“Hope you don’t mind me having a few words,” said Harwin.

Gendry didn’t know what there was to talk about with Harwin. He barely knew the older man; he was more familiar with Tom and Anguy and the others. But Harwin had always seemed nice enough, so Gendry nodded and shifted to make a seat for him.

Harwin didn’t say anything for a few moments, just drank his ale. He smacked his lips in satisfaction as he brought his cup down.

He turned to Gendry. “I wanted to thank you, for caring for Arya this whole time,” he said very seriously.

“Oh,” said Gendry. His face started to warm, probably from the wine. “I— I didn’t do much. Arya was in charge most of the time. Me and Hot Pie just followed.”

Harwin chuckled. “That does sound like her. She’s a natural leader, that one.”

Gendry made a mumble of agreement.

A reminiscent glaze took over Harwin’s eyes. “I still remember when Arya was this tall.” He placed his hand about the height of the table. “Couldn’t have been older than four. She was already this stubborn little thing. Her mother forbid her from going into the kitchens, you know. She was supposed to be in her lessons. But she always snuck in somehow, and played with the cook’s children, or else heckled the shit out of the butcher.” He laughed at this memory. “Finally the Lord and Lady Stark gave up and let her do as she pleased. We called her Arya Underfoot. She may be a highborn lady, but she never acted like one, even then.”

Gendry moved his head up and down in a stiff nod.

“What is your real name? Not the Bull, surely.”

“Gendry,” mumbled Gendry.

“You never knew your father?” Harwin asked, eyeing him kind of funny.

“No,” said Gendry. He stood abruptly. “Nice talking to you, Harwin. I’m—I’m feeling tired, so…”

“Ah, of course,” said Harwin, smiling. “My pleasure, Gendry the Bull. Sleep well.” He raised his cup at him in salute.

Gendry climbed up the stairs, sidestepping another girl on the way. The liquor he had drank _was_ making him sleepy. He stumbled around and managed to find the room meant for them. The bed was big and empty— except, as Gendry squinted, for a small curled up form under the blankets.

He pulled his tunic off his head and made his way to the bed as quietly as possible. He didn’t have to. Arya was dead asleep and wouldn’t have budged at an earthquake. Gendry slid under the blankets next to her, and looked at her sleeping face. She looked young in her sleep. Young and vulnerable, and something in Gendry’s chest tightened.

He touched Arry’s cheek. It was soft and clean after all the baths they’d forced on her. “I’m sorry about before,” he whispered.

No reply but for her steady breathing.

Gendry retracted his hand, and, listening to her breathing as if to a mother’s lullaby, soon drifted into sleep.

 


End file.
